Some people are book re-readers. I am not. There are precious few I care to read again. Supper of the Lamb is worth it. It is the perfect book to read during the holiday’s feasting, reminding me that calorie counting be damned when Caitlin arrived with her perfected cinnamon rolls made through the sweet harmony of two master baker’s recipes. And then when the pan was cleared of all its bready goodness, a spoon to get at the gooey toffeed stickiness from the bottom was the only right thing to do. Feast days are not the time for fasting. Period.
On the heels of those glorious cinnamon rolls was prime rib medium rare, mashed potatoes engorged with butter and popovers whose batter was carefully placed on top of the fatty drippings of the roast. The next morning’s breakfast was a mere 1/4 cup of shredded wheat. It was the best I could do.
Of this, Robert Farrar Capon says:
“The calorie approach is the work of the devil. He has persuaded otherwise sane men that festal eating should not alternate with ferial eating at all, but with dieting- an activity which, while it uses food, hopes that it can keep food from having anything significant to do with us… The dieter has no way of distinguishing good food from bad.”
To have been “on a diet,” to have turned down a Christmas feast fit for a queen for no other reason than a calorie count, is to be presented cinnamon rolls fit for the gods and refuse them as though they are on par with day old doughnuts in a cellophane wrapper. To be a dieter is to lose the ability to distinguish good food from bad. Christmas is most assuredly not the time to diet. Neither is New Year’s.